


The Nightmare Club

by morioriohno



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleeping together but there’s no sex just wholesome babies, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morioriohno/pseuds/morioriohno
Summary: Wash’s first nightmare is probably the worst wake-up call Tucker has ever received.
Relationships: Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 134





	The Nightmare Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazyfox411](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfox411/gifts).



> Enjoy! I got a prompt for Tuckington hurt/comfort, hope this is to your liking!

**i.**

The base they hide out in isn’t much to look at, and there’s not exactly a lot of personal space available. The Reds immediately claimed the nice half of the base, leaving only the kitchen and a single bedroom for the three Blues. Getting Wash to go to sleep had been an...ordeal, to put it mildly. Wash had seemed hesitant to share a room with the Blues, but there wasn’t any way Tucker was going to make him sleep outside when it was cold as balls out there. So what followed was an obnoxious ten minutes of Wash insisting it would be better if he left, and Tucker assuring him that no, he doesn’t think Wash is a monster that didn’t deserve to be saved, and Caboose begging Wash to snuggle up with him for the night. Everyone eventually compromised by agreeing to share the only bed together. Y’know, like three heterosexual guys do.

Tucker, unfortunately, gets sandwiched in the middle, because that’s just his lot in life now. Caboose falls asleep first, his body wrapped around Wash and Tucker like everything is just perfect and normal and not at all fucked. Wash had sneakily managed to escape to the other end of the bed before Caboose locked a hand around his elbow and effectively trapped them both. For a while, Wash and Tucker are just lying in bed, uncomfortably sandwiched into Caboose’s death grip, and it’s way too awkward when they attempt small talk so they just give up and silently stare at the ceiling. Tucker eventually gets bored and just stares at Wash, who’s probably oblivious to his observations. Tucker doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look more tired and not be asleep. 

“Dude, you look dead. You should get some rest,” Tucker mutters.

“I will” is the noncommittal reply. Good enough. He doesn’t know the freelancer well enough yet to figure out whether or not he’ll actually sleep, and at this point, Tucker can’t really be bothered to care. He’s a grown-ass man, he can handle himself.

Wash is still awake when Tucker finally dozes off, and the last thing Tucker sees is the peppered freckles across Wash’s nose before he falls into a dreamless sleep.

That sleep is shattered by Tucker waking up to a pair of strong hands choking the life out of him.

Tucker gasps awake, hands instinctively going to his neck to pry the vice grip off of him but the hands are strong as all hell and he can’t get them to let go. As he rapidly forces himself awake, he thinks it must be Caboose, tossing and turning in his sleep and accidentally choking him. But no, he’s being straddled by someone lighter and what‘s happening right now is way more violent than what Caboose would do in his sleep.

His vision focuses on Wash, sitting on top of him with all his weight pressed down onto Tucker’s throat. There’s a look of vague disgust on Wash’s face, and a fire in his eyes that makes Tucker’s heart sink in terror.

In that moment, Tucker realizes that Wash is trying to kill him.

Promises be damned, he’s not gonna die like this. Tucker extends a hand out to the side of the bed, scrambling for his sword, but with his faculties failing him it’s all he can do just to struggle for air.

“GET OFF OF HIM!”

The hands are ripped free of Tucker and he curls in on himself, gasping desperately for breath as he finally finds his sword and lights it up. The pale blue glow falls on the sight of Caboose holding Wash a foot off the ground by the waist as he struggles to get free.

“Wh—what the _fuck_ ,” Tucker chokes out, staggering to his feet. He can’t think of anything better to say to accurately describe what just happened, so he settles for repeating it. “Dude, what the actual _fuck_?!” 

Wash inhales sharply and stops flailing, looking around at the room like he’s never seen this place before.

Tucker holds the sword closer to Wash’s face—his eyes no longer look tired, but wide and scared like a deer in headlights. The glow of plasma adds a feral tinge to his look, like he really is cornered and could bolt at any second.

“What...” Wash’s voice is a rasp. “What did I do?”

“What did you _do_?” Tucker can barely keep the distaste from his voice. You tried to fucking _kill_ me, that’s what you tried to do!”

Wash’s mouth falls to a tight line.

Tucker waits for Wash to explain, but he’s silent. Anger boils in his veins as he looks at the freelancer, the backstabbing, friend-shooting _bastard_ that they decided to give a second chance—the guy who just tried to strangle Tucker in his sleep. This was such a mistake. He should’ve ignored Caboose begging to keep him like a new pet and left him to bleed out in the snow.

“Caboose,” Wash suddenly says, so gently that Tucker almost has to scoff. “Can you put me down?”

Caboose looks to Tucker for confirmation, but Wash speaks up before Tucker can tell Caboose to snap his neck, hands raised in resignation. “I-it was a mistake to take me in. I’ll stay in the kitchen until morning and be out of your hair before you wake up.”

Hm. Getting rid of him seems better than having to kill him and deal with his corpse. After a moment, Tucker nods to Caboose to let him go.

Caboose doesn’t budge.

“Uh. Caboose?” Tucker asks, head cocked to the side. “You can put him down now. He can’t fuck off while you’re holding him like a stuffed animal.”

Wash looks about as confused as Tucker does, and looks down to the monolithic manchild still holding him up so his feet don’t touch the ground. “It’s okay, Caboose, I won’t hurt you guys again, I promise. Just let me down.”

“No,” Caboose says.

“ _...No?_ ” Tucker echoes, incredulous.

“If I let Agent Washington go then Agent Washington will leave!”

“Yeah, that’s the idea.”

“I do not want Agent Washington to leave!”

“Well, _I_ do, and I’m pretty sure _him—_ “ He jabs his sword in Wash’s direction— “ollying the fuck out is doing us all a favor!”

Wash starts, “He’s right, Caboose—”

“Shut the fuck up, this isn’t your decision because you tried to fucking _KILL_ me!”

“Agent Washington is our _friend_ ,” Caboose says stubbornly. “And I like my friends and he saved me before and he has nowhere else to go so even if he was really mean just now I will not put him down until Agent Washington says he will stay!”

Despite how pissed he is, Tucker can’t help glancing over at Wash.

“But...I tried to kill Tucker...” Wash says, sounding somewhere between confused and mortified.

“Oh, well I’m sure you had a very good reason for that!”

The Blues and their new recruit are silent for a good few seconds. Tucker thinks about it, then takes a step closer to Wash. 

“Okay then, Wash. What’s the reason?” Tucker asks.

For a pale guy like Wash, it’s kind of weird to see him suddenly get a whole few shades paler. “I don’t think you want—“

“Give us a reason or you leave. And Caboose is right for once, you really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wash glances down at Caboose, seemingly weighs his options, and then sighs in defeat.

“I have...nightmares.”

“Nightmares.” Well, that’s fucking anticlimactic. Tucker scoffs, partially out of disappointment that it wasn’t something cooler that nearly killed him. “Dude, that wasn’t a nightmare, that was pretty fucking real.”

“I know, I know. They’re just—“ Wash cuts himself off, looking at the floor. “Look. I’ve survived a lot of things, but the nightmares, the things I’ve seen, they don’t go away. Sometimes it gets a little out of— _very_ out of hand,” he corrects at Tucker’s glare. “I haven’t shared a room with anyone in a while, so I didn’t realize how bad the sleepwalking part was.”

“So, what, like ultra-PTSD on crack?”

He winces. “I can’t exactly argue, so yeah, sure.”

“See, Tucker?” Caboose is smiling so big it’s a miracle his face doesn’t break. “He is just on crack, there is nothing wrong with him! Now Agent Washington can stay with us forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever...”

Caboose puts Wash down and bounces back into the bed, still repeating his happy mantra like the events of tonight didn’t even happen.

Wash fiddles with his hands a bit, then stammers, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you guys need anything. I-I’m really sorry, Tucker, I know you guys stuck out your necks for me back at Sidewinder and—“

Oh, god, he’s so fucking done with this tonight. “Dude,” Tucker snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shut up and go before I change my mind.”

Wash’s mouth snaps shut. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, and then, without any further pushing, leaves the bedroom and quietly closes the door.

* * *

**ii.**

“Tucker, get up.”

Tucker is not-so-gently shoved out of his bed onto the floor, waking up with a splutter of curses and confusion. “WHat, what I’m awake! I’m awake, I’m...”

He trails off as he realizes who shoved him out of bed. “Carolina? Christ.” Instinct has him reach for his sheets and drag it over his body—of course, that’s what he fucking gets for being comfortable at night. “What the hell do you wa _MMrbph_!”

“Get dressed,” she snaps, hurling his clothing directly at his face. “I need your help.”

“ _My_ help? Last I checked, you didn’t need us ‘fake soldiers’ for anything,” Tucker retorts.

“I don’t,” she says, in that kinda hot but also completely batshit terrifying way of hers. “Now get dressed.”

“Wait, hold on. What time is it?”

Tucker can almost see her hackles rising. What did Sarge call her? Half shark? “That shouldn’t _matter_ when your CO gives you—“

“Three in the morning?” Tucker yelps. “Ah, fuck you, Carolina. I’m not doing training drills this early, Wash tried to get me to do that shit a while ago—“

“I need help with Wash.”

Oh.

“Nightmares again?”

“He’s making some strange noises, tossing and turning.”

Right. Nightmares again. “I’m not...that good with that stuff.”

“Neither am I,” she mutters. She says it like it physically pains her to admit she can’t do something. “Look, Washington and I were on the same squad, but I never had to deal with him after Epsilon—“

“ _Deal_ with him? Didn’t you abandon him?”

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. “You know what I mean. Please, just help?”

Tucker sighs and puts on his goddamn pants.

* * *

**iii.**

Tucker opens Wash’s door to find exactly what he expected—Wash, sitting upright in his bed, gasping for air and holding the sheets clenched in his fists like a lifeline. “Yeah, okay, that’s what I thought.”

He approaches the bed and shoves Wash over a little, just enough for Tucker to get under the covers. “C’mon, man. You gotta move over. Which one was it this time?”

Wash doesn’t say anything, but at least he’s watching Tucker now. He’s still breathing pretty heavy. Must’ve been one of the bad ones. Tucker has learned that talking somehow helps Wash snap out of these nightmares—after all, Wash is pretty talkative when you get to know him.

One last shove gets Wash to finally release the sheets, and he slowly shifts over until there’s enough room for Tucker to get in there with him. “There we go, that’s more fucking like it. Was it Maine again?”

He shakes his head. His fists are still clenched, just now they’re not grabbing anything.

“CT? South? The Director?” No, no and no. “Freelancer?” No.

“Epsilon?”

No.

“A new one?”

Wash tentatively nods.

“Alright, so a new nightmare. Ohoh, man, was it kinky? Did you fuck? Did—“ Tucker’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did _we_ fuck?”

That gets a dirty look from Wash—alright, so he’s not completely out of it. He’s breathing better now. “Yeesh, forget I said anything.”

Wash sighs, still kinda tight, and slowly unclenches his hands. “You don’t need to keep doing this.”

Oh, hey, he’s already talking! Record time. “Of course I do, man.” Tucker suppresses a victorious grin and flops back into the bed, arms folded under his head. “We’re friends. Friends don’t let other friends scream themselves awake and leave them to sort it out themselves. You know what that’s called, when you leave them alone like that?”

“Smart?” Wash says dryly.

“ _No_ , not smart. It’s a dick move, is what it is. And I am not a dick.”

“You are kind of a dick.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

Wash hums in acknowledgement. The two of them have gotten used to this routine since their ship crashed on some random-ass planet and Church and Carolina abandoned everyone. Wash has a nightmare and wakes up in a cold sweat, Tucker snaps him out of it, they both go back to sleep. Every time, Wash tells him that he doesn’t have to bother with him, that it’s better to let Wash sort it out himself. Pfft, yeah, because that worked out so well for him in the past.

“So. You good now, Wash?”

Wash hesitates a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thank you, Tucker.”

“No problem, man. Good night.”

Tucker throws the covers off of himself and makes as if to leave when Wash’s hand suddenly locks around his wrist.

“Wait.”

Tucker looks back at Wash, who is intensely staring at the sheets at the far end of the bed. Something feels funny and light in Tucker’s chest, but he does his best to ignore it and focuses instead on this one super-interesting crack in the ceiling.

“Stay?” Wash mutters. “Please.”

“Uh. Sure.” Tucker slowly pulls himself back under the covers, and Wash does the same. The bed’s not that big in the first place, so they’re already kind of sandwiched together, but Wash pulls Tucker a little closer and winds up curling up against him so it’s about as close as two dudebros can get in a bed without not being dudebros anymore.

For the first time, Wash falls asleep first.

* * *

**iv.**

Tucker has a nightmare that Wash is gone forever.

To his dismay, when he wakes up, it turns out that reality wasn’t that far off.

* * *

**v.**

“—Wash. Wash,” Tucker gurgles, terror rising in his throat as he grasps at Wash’s hand. Wash is awake in seconds, hands on Tucker’s shoulders.

“You’re safe,” Wash says. “He’s not here, you’re okay.”

“I-I saw, I fucking saw him, he was right fucking _there,_ Wash—“

Tucker tries to point to an empty corner of the room but Wash catches his hand and pulls it into his own. “He’s not here,” Wash presses. “We’re with everyone else at the crash site, you’re safe.”

He’s still shaking. Seeing flashes of Felix, the glint of a metal knife instants before Felix drives it into his abdomen. Wash lets go of Tucker’s hands and puts his own on Tucker’s face so he’s looking right into his eyes.

“Hey. I’ve got you, alright?” Wash promises, soft as he can. “Nobody’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here.”

Tucker buries his face into Wash’s shoulder and grabs on as tight as he possibly can. They sit there for what feels like forever—Tucker’s silent sobs racking his frame, Wash rubbing small circles in his back. Wash wishes they could stay there forever, but, well, there’s a war to win, and Tucker probably doesn’t feel the same way. This small moment between them will have to do.

Wash feels like he’s been stuck in a nightmare since Tucker got stabbed. He’s always been afraid to lose people, but Tucker is different. Wash isn’t going to lose Tucker, he can’t. 

When Tucker sits up, his eyes are bloodshot, but at least he’s not crying anymore. “You’re okay?” Wash asks.

Tucker groans, leaning back in the bed. “Fuck, I _HATE_ this!”

“You were injured badly. It’s okay to feel that way—“

“No, I _know_ it’s okay to feel like this because I got fucking _stabbed,_ dipshit. Of course I can be pissed!” He stares down at the covers, picking up a tiny piece of lint and flicking it away. “It just...it fucking sucks actual balls feeling like this.”

Wash snorts. “Welcome to my life.”

“That must be a lot of sucking, bow chicka bow wow.”

“...Can’t you stop for _one minute?_ ”

Tucker cackles with laughter at the distraught look on Wash’s face. “Pfft, nah, man, not when you get this pissed from it.”

Rolling his eyes, Wash turns his attention to the window. The sun is already rising over Chorus, a herald of another day of war and loss and mortal peril.

“It’s about time to wake up,” Wash supplies.

“Yeah, probably.”

Wash and Tucker lock eyes and simultaneously mutter, “Five more minutes,” collapsing back under the covers.

* * *

**vi.**

Wash wakes up with a start, a sudden falling sensation as if he’d been pulled out of the bed. Tucker stirs quietly, mumbling something unintelligible at first. His hands coast through Wash’s hair slowly, unconsciously. “Rhmmmm. Wash? You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Wash whispers, closing his eyes with a smile. “Just a bad dream.”


End file.
